


Sex and Drugs

by dizzy



Category: Hetty Wainthropp Investigates, Lost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-29
Updated: 2004-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy





	Sex and Drugs

Charlie never bought into the sex and drugs comparison. Sex and drugs were nothing alike to him. Sex was happy. Sex was fun. Drugs were desperate and painful. Drugs weren't happy at all. Charlie didn't kid himself; drugs were a problem, not a solution. But he'd never considered himself that strong of a person - so why fight it?

Geoffrey put up with his problem - Charlie almost loved him just for that. Not that the sex didn't help. Charlie didn't think it right to completely base a relationship on sex, though - toleration was a part of it. And maybe the way Geoffrey always let him pick what they watched on the telly. That was nice, too. And the way he laughed at Charlie's stupid puns, and the way he always looked serious and thoughtful when Charlie played him a new song. The way he didn't even laugh when Charlie tried to hit the high notes. Yeah - Charlie thought. Yeah, there are a lot of reasons for loving Geoffrey.

Charlie used to think that love was overrated. He blamed that attitude on a previously broken heart and his drug-hazy, sex-drenched early 20's. Charlie thought, Geoffrey's probably never had a broken heart. Charlie dreaded the day when he would be the first to do it, but he knew it was coming.

But probably not for a very long time. At least, Charlie hoped not. He and Geoff were having fun now - having fun and having sex and enjoying life. Charlie wished that he could be a normal boyfriend once in a while. Not always off to some other country, not always cowering in the bathroom trying to will the redness out of his cheeks and hope that Geoff didn't notice how red his eyes were.

Geoffrey never said anything, even though Charlie knew that he knew. Charlie didn't know what he'd do if Geoffrey DID say something. He didn't think that he could stop. He'd tried once before and it nearly killed him, and he'd only gone a week without. The headache combined with the nausea and he'd had a show to do and he couldn't let everyone down, not again, not like last time - so he'd given in and it had been the most bittersweet feeling in the world, and he'd known then that he was just another useless shit and he hadn't cared one bit because the feeling was so damned overpowering.

But not strong-good, like sex with Geoff. Sex with Geoff is a high all its own. One that doesn't leave him feeling horrible, one that sort of lifts him up and keeps him there. The sort of high that just gets better and better every time Geoff looks at him. And when he's fucking Geoff, when his cock his buried inside Geoff and he can feel THEM, together, the sweat and the come and the heat and the spit and the love that keeps them together and refuses to let them break apart even for a second until their done, and not even then, because Geoff is the best aphrodisiac Charlie's ever heard of, and sometimes they can go at it all night - sucking and fucking and kissing and talking and then fucking some more. Because Geoffrey's that good, and its Charlie that made him that way, so that must mean that Charlie's not half bad himself, except, it can't be just the physical stuff that makes it good, because sometimes he gets a sliver of that same feeling when they're just sitting there, fully clothed, and it makes Charlie want to reach over and grab him and hug him, just hug him, nothing more - just to feel him, to smell his cologne and feel how soft the skin of his neck is and how well they fit together.

Charlie wrote a song for Geoff once. He let Geoff listen to it - played it for Geoff one night. They were both naked and on the bed - fresh from a shower, and just before that, from a nice welcome-home blowjob. The sight of Geoff on his knees always inspired Charlie. He'd written the lyrics on the plane, on his way from Finland (though where in Finland he couldn't even begin to say) to Manchester, to home, to Geoff, who, in a roundabout way, had become home for him. Four years, on and off - more on than off, and only off when they lost contact, but that hadn't happened for more than a week or two at a time in... oh, at least two years, Charlie thought, a little surprised. A long time since their first fuck in a cheesy hotel room after an even cheesier concert.

"We can be everything / If we learn how to try / We can have the world / If we have a reason to not say goodbye,"

Charlie never came out and said it - 'This is for you, Geoff, I wrote this for you, this is your song.' - But just because he didn't say it didn't make it any less true. And he was pretty sure Geoffrey knew, anyway, without Charlie having to come right out and say it. Geoff was pretty smart about those sorts of things. A lot smarter than Charlie - a lot more perceptive. 'My little private dick,' Charlie had a habit of calling Geoff. In public, usually. And with a grin, so Geoff couldn't get mad at him.

So yes - Charlie wrote the song, and Charlie sang the song, and Geoffrey smiled in the right places and nodded in the right places and didn't applaud at the end, when Charlie opened his eyes and closed his mouth at the end of the song. Instead, Geoff had done just the right thing, reaching over and pushing Charlie's guitar aside and pouncing on him, knocking Charlie back onto the pillow and thoroughly attacking his mouth.

Half an hour later, cock in Geoffrey's mouth, hips twisting under Geoffrey's hands, when Charlie was finally allowed to come, he looked down at Geoff two seconds before the orgasm devoured him, his eyes had met Geoff's and Geoff had lifted his mouth and grinned, teeth gleaming, lips shiny, and said - "Love the song," - and his voice was deep and rough and SEX and Charlie came from the sound it, shouting, came onto Geoffrey's face, splattering against his chin and his throat and his poked-out tongue, even a little in his hair, slowly drip-sliding down his cheek, and Charlie almost thought he was going to come again, just from the sight of it.

That's what sex was. That's what sex with GEOFFREY was. Hot, sweet, mind-blowing. Left him feeling like the moon and the sun were just there for decoration and all the world really needed to keep on spinning was Geoffrey. That's not what drugs did to him. That's not the feeling he got from drugs.

So yeah. Charlie never really bought into that comparison.


End file.
